A Conversation With the Captain
by Asenka.N.Chernyaeva
Summary: D'Artagnan tries to make the transition from Royal Guardsman to Musketeer early in his career.  To do this, he must get a commission signed... by Captain Rochefort, a man with a grudge against the d'Artagnan clan.  Three Musketeers fic.


_Author's Note: This story is sort of AU. Take the Rochefort from the 90s Disney movie and the d'Artagnan from the 70s films (much less arrogant and much, much sharper than the Disney version), and there you have the characters. Rochefort is the Captain of the Guards, and d'Artagnan tries to achieve his promotion to the Musketeers through him, instead of through the Cardinal (as in the book). _

_I think I made that more confusing than it had to be. :)_

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><p><span>A Conversation With the Captain<span>

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," the guardsman introduced the young Gascon in a grave voice.

"'D'Artagnan'," the Captain of the Guards said after a long moment, where he stood by a roll-top desk with a portfolio of parchment in his arms. "You wanted to see me." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, sir," d'Artagnan acknowledged, "I… I came to see if Monsieur would sign my commission commending me into the service of the Musketeers. I have been in your company of Guards for some small time and feel that I am ready. I would swear to it on my name as a d'Artagnan."

"A name which is given to a fair few families. To which do you belong?"

_Danger_, the young man thought: _Caution!_ "I belong to those of Gascony, of Auch on the Gors River."

"Ah," Rochefort said simply. "Your father was a Musketeer in his day. We have met."

"I… have heard that you and he were not friends," d'Artagnan said, suddenly fearful at the direction the conversation was taking.

"He felt that I was too strange to be a Musketeer," Rochefort said quietly, after a moment, "and made his views… quite clear."

D'Artagnan wondered if he should respond. Something told him that apologizing on behalf of his father would do no good; even do harm. He continued his evaluation of the floor, darting his eyes back up at the Captain after a moment. He found the man watching him with strained but quiet eyes. Finally, Rochefort broke the silence.

"How long have you been in Paris, d'Artagnan?"

"Seven months, monsieur."

Rochefort's face betrayed no sign of surprise. D'Artagnan reminded himself that the man probably knew everything about him, especially if he still bore a grudge towards d'Artagnan senior and his family… a situation which the Captain was being very ambiguous about.

"Seven months…" Rochefort repeated thoughtfully, looking down at the portfolios that were tucked into the crook of his arm. "And what have you learned?"

D'Artagnan's natural youthful eagerness to display his knowledge overrode the apprehension that had been making him sweat since the topic of his father had come up. "Much, monsieur Captain!"

The boy thought he saw a small hint of a smile form behind Rochefort's eyes; startled, he looked more closely, but the flicker of kindness was already gone. He continued: "I have learned much of all of the infantry skills, of course; improving my swordsmanship and shooting. Horsemanship, which I don't excel at, I admit, but I have improved. And they have taught me something of manners and diplomacy, as well."

"Ah, yes?" Rochefort said. "Yes, I daresay."

The man's mind seemed to be wandering ahead of the conversation; preparing several different routes of conversation. The neutrality of the Captain's responses did not soothe d'Artagnan: The conversation, despite its most recent turn, was not going the way he had hoped. Of course, he had been aware of the bad blood between his father and the man in front of him; the older Musketeers had divulged the story of the bullied young man in bits and pieces. He had only hoped that Rochefort had forgotten; or that it wouldn't come up. He felt that there was a very good chance that the Captain would deny him this sure passage into the ranks of the Musketeers for this reason; what other cause for this vague questioning?

Suddenly, Rochefort looked up and spoke sternly: "Monsieur d'Artagnan, the life of a Musketeer may seem frivolous and daring, but I assure you that your duties will often be perilous. You must stand between the King and Queen and the men and women who would do them harm; sometimes you must do this physically, and end up with a dagger in your person. Further, you may be sent to war; or stranger still, on dangerous personal missions whose outcome and purpose may not be clear to you. You will certainly suffer during the course of your career; and while you may hope that it will be minimal, you may lose both life and limb in the process of defending their lives and their honor. So I ask you: Are you willing to undertake this duty?"

D'Artagnan straightened up and looked directly into Rochefort's eyes, praying with all his might that he could convince the Captain that he was not his father; that he deserved this chance. Sweat broke out on his back, but he spoke with a firm voice: "Monsieur Captain, I am."

A long moment of silence held the room in its grip. A trickle of sweat traced d'Artagnan's spine; he shuddered imperceptibly, but he knew that Rochefort saw it. The man's dark eyes bored into his very heart; then abruptly they softened and flicked over him one last time. He held out his hand.

"Then I will sign your commission."

D'Artagnan couldn't help the wide grin that plastered itself to his face; no more than he could prevent the sputtered half-laugh of relief as he came forward and handed over the tightly-rolled and now damp commission. The Captain leaned over a roll-desk and took the quill from its stand, imprinting a precise signature. He blew on it softly, and d'Artagnan took the proffered scroll with palpable relief. He gazed at the man for a long moment. Though he was only sixteen, he was almost as tall as the Captain. It would have been too easy to bully him, as a young man, he thought. It had undoubtedly been a cruel time. Yet, here was the scroll that marked d'Artagnan's passage into adulthood, a signature scrawled with little thought of revenge…

"Thank you, Monsieur Captain," he said softly.

Rochefort looked at him with unfathomable eyes. "Good luck, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

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><p><em>Reviews are used to feed Rochefort, who looks a little too thin in the movie, if you ask me!<em>


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